


im sorry, daddy

by rory_kent



Series: sherlock and his daddy [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Daddy Kink, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff and Angst, Little Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Spanking, Sugar Daddy John Watson, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_kent/pseuds/rory_kent
Summary: sherlock is needy for attention and gets more than he bargained for
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: sherlock and his daddy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767892
Comments: 5
Kudos: 90





	im sorry, daddy

Daddy had been gone for two hours, forty-five minutes, 34 seconds. 35. 36. Sherlock threw his head back and clapped his book closed. Some silly brain surgery or something. Daddy would no doubt come home exhausted and irritable. Sherlock’s fingers twitched and he stretched out across the armchair, legs dangling in the air. He almost called out for John, asking for a cuddle, but stopped himself just in time. Sherlock drew his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth in daddy’s chair. The flat was so unbearingly empty, so quiet it ached inside of him. He balled his hands into fists and unclenched them, his palms drenched in sweat. Why was he so upset? Daddy was not going to be gone for  _ that  _ long...why should he be upset? Daddy’s work was important, Sherlock was being petulant and childish for wanting John to stay home. He was only to call if it was an emergency, daddy had said, but how angry daddy would be if Sherlock called him now? He was being so clingy and whorish. He cursed himself and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to calm himself, rubbing them back and forth, grasping and tugging until he began to tear up at the pain in his scalp. He groaned and let go of his hair. 

Sherlock was restless, his fingers twitched, his stomach was tumbling like a washing machine. He paced the sitting room. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. This was  _ tedious!  _ He collapsed to the floor and spread himself out dramatically. His eyes flickered around the flat- so awful and empty and not daddy! He hit his hands against the floor, pulling up the carpet and crawling around. He pulled books off of shelves, he pushed daddy’s chair over, and he swore. He swore and cried and shouted at the emptiness- the thoughts pulsing through his skull. He wasn’t good enough, he wasn’t good enough. He was ugly and childish and stupid and a freak. Maybe daddy would finally see that. See how wretched he was.

Work had been so awfully tiring. John Watson was fucking frustrated. He had drunk maybe a little too much whiskey at lunch, and he really didn’t need one more thing going wrong. He clenched his fists together as he stood in the lift. He really needed some Sherlock time- just cuddles and a film and a solid snog would make this whole day alright. He sighed deep as he turned the key and pushed the door open. His eyes widened. The place was trashed. Books and papers and furniture splattered about. His heartbeat quickened. He didn’t see Sherlock. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Sherlock?!” His gut twisted at the thought of something happening to his perfect boy, someone taking him, someone hurting him. There was a pitiful whimper from down the hall. John strode quickly to the closet, he pulled open the door to find a teeny shivering ball of midnight curls and pale skin.

“Sherlock, what the hell happened?” John asked sternly, his concern shifted to anger, arms crossed and eyes glaring slightly. Sherlock only whimpered like a guilty puppy.

“I- I got lonely,” He mumbled, his knees drawn close to his chest. John scoffed. 

“You got lonely, and you destroyed my flat?” 

“S-sorry daddy,” Sherlock looked up with wide eyes, biting his lip nervously. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re sorry,” John smirked darkly, sending a shiver through Sherlock’s spine. John got on one knee and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, tugging a bit, relishing the little whine he got in response. “You’re going to be very sorry, Sherlock. Did you maybe think to call me?”

“B-but you sai-” John cut him off with a yank on his hair.

“You didn’t think, Sherlock. You don’t think. If you needed my attention, you should’ve asked politely. I do not appreciate these games. You’ve got my attention now, boy” Sherlock sniffled, silent tears soaking his blustery cheeks, his nose glowing pink and dribbling snot. He felt horrible. So terribly horrible. “Go clean up the sitting room Sherlock, and when it’s spotless, and I mean  _ spotless _ , I want you in the corner, hands behind your head.” Sherlock’s lips quivered but he nodded solemnly as Daddy pulled him up and pushed him towards the sitting room. 

He looked around. It was a right mess. He quickly began putting books back on the shelf, straightening daddy’s chair, sweeping up all the papers into a pile, sorting them back into their appropriate files. It took him less than 20 minutes, and by the end he was a quivering mess. He was terrified of his first punishment. He really had been horrible. Daddy was right, he was manipulative and terrible. The attention he had wanted did not feel so good anymore. He slowly shuffled to the corner, letting out a shaky breath before placing his hands behind his head, running his fingers through his hair nervously, shifting his weight between his feet, the minutes passing slowly.

“Settle, Sherlock.” Daddy scolded from his armchair. Sherlock wanted so desperately to turn around and beg forgiveness, to just feel Daddy touching him. Yes, if only daddy would touch him, just once, this wouldn’t be so bad. He bit back his sobs, his chest heaving and shaking silently. He could hear daddy reading the paper, sipping his drink, checking his phone, but all Sherlock could see in his mind was daddy’s angry face. It filled his tummy with nausea, made his bones shiver. After an eternity, he heard daddy’s footsteps coming towards him. He tried to steady his breathing, to show his daddy what a good boy he was.

“Turn around.” Sherlock obeyed instantly, eyes downcast, hands still tangled in his hair. John gave him an appraising glare before returning to his armchair, Sherlock watching his feet intently. “Over my knee, boy.” Sherlock shuddered. He did not like daddy calling him that. It made him feel ashamed, ashamed that he had not earned to be called kitten or princess. That thought alone sent another sob through him. “No need for theatrics, Sherlock, you misbehaved, there are consequences.” 

Sherlock quickly made his way to daddy’s chair, unsure what to do. Daddy huffed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him harshly downward until Sherlock’s tummy was resting on his right knee, backside so horribly exposed across his left. “You’re getting ten, count and thank me for each one.” Sherlock whimpered as daddy pulled his trousers down without ceremony, rubbing a strong callused hand across his bare arse. Sherlock barely had time to prepare before the first slap came down. Hard. He jolted forward, gripping the arm of the chair with all his might. He shut his eyes tight against the stinging pain. Daddy planted another one. “Sherlock,” he warned admonishingly.

“O-one, thank you sir,”and Sherlock quickly whimpered. Daddy huffed in response before bringing his hand even harder, this time right at the base of his thighs, sending a jolt of fire through Sherlock. 

“T-two, th-thank you sir,” Sherlock tried to keep his cool. He deserved it. He deserved it. He was horrible, he was attention seeking and horrible. His bit his lip so hard his mouth tasted like pennies, and he did his awful hardest to keep his voice level, but by the sixth stroke he was a blubbering mess. John brought his open palm harshly across the already glowing red marks. Sherlock let out a sob, tears running wild now. 

“s-seven d-a-addy,” He cried weakly, “th-thank you da-ady,” John rubbed a small circle over his throbbing skin.

“Only three more, baby,” He said kindly, before getting the last strokes over and done with quickly, barely giving Sherlock time to count. 

“Eight-n-nine..t-ten tha-ank you sir,” Sherlock sputtered before John quickly pulled him around and into his lap, rubbing his back softly as Sherlock sobbed into his shoulder, fists grasping at his shirt helplessly. John did not mind at all that he’d have to dry-clean Sherlock’s snot and tears out of this shirt, he only hushed and rocked his precious baby kindly.

“That’s a good boy, Sherlock, you did so good princess,” Sherlock sniffled as his daddy ran gentle fingers through his hair. “Let’s get some lotion for those smacks, huh baby?” Sherlock only blubbered into his shirt. John sighed, scooping Sherlock up onto his hip and carrying him to their room. Sherlock clung to him like a little sea anemone, limbs splayed around John, desperately clinging his arms around his neck. John set Sherlock down on the bed on his tummy, planting a kiss on his shock of chocolate curls before fetching the aloe. Sherlock whimpered into his pillow, laying exposed on the bed, his bum was hot and itchy, but daddy was soon sitting next to him, rubbing something cool and soothing over it, lulling sweet things to him. He pulled soft pyjamas over his bum before pulling Sherlock’s shirt off and replacing it with his favorite t-shirt. Sherlock made grabby hands at him and John accepted his request, pulling him up and into his lap, Sherlock’s nose tucked into his neck. Sherlock whispered sweetly in his ear, his voice dripping in guilt.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” John smiled and placed a firm hand on the nape of his neck, tracing his fingers through a single curl lightly.

“I know kitten, I forgive you, just don’t let it happen again. If you need me, you call me.” Sherlock nodded glumly, arms wrapped tightly around daddy’s neck.

“Yes, daddy.” John sighed and pulled Sherlock onto his hip. “Where we goin’ daddy?” Sherlock whispered, feet scrambling to link and hold onto daddy, eyes wide watching the floor moving beneath them.

“Thought we’d have a Bond night, does that sound alright, kitten?” Sherlock grinned and nodded. John pulled them onto the sofa, curling a blanket around Sherlock’s shoulders, planting a firm kiss on his lips before clicking the remote. Sherlock curled into his side before plopping his head in daddy’s lap. John laughed and obliged, running his fingers through his curls as the opening credits started. Sherlock sighed happily and yawned, slowly drifting to sleep. John held back a chuckle a few minutes later as a little pool of drool was forming on his thigh. He only pet Sherlock gently in his sleep, admiring those ethereal cheekbones and feminine eyelashes. What would life be like without Sherlock? God, he didn’t even want to imagine.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! <3 comments and feedback always appreciated!!   
> check me out on tumblr: @hey-im-rory


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